


Demon City EXTRAs

by armethaumaturgy



Series: Demon City Verse [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: & exorcists, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Character Death, Cross (X-tale) - Freeform, Fallen Angel Nightmare, Horror (Horrortale) - Freeform, Killer (Killertale) - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Nightmare (Dreamtale) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Papyrus (X-tale), as a roubabout metaphor for sharing energy, bad sanses poly - Freeform, chara, graphic descriptions of pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29017377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: Extra pieces set in the universe ofDemon city, including but not limited to backstories, drabbles, or stories featuring characters other than the main cast.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Demon City Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128764
Comments: 37
Kudos: 127





	1. Horror; origins

Horror watched the humans scrambling to and fro, yelling over one another; keys in hand, passing bags, arguing as the flames licked along the tents. The lions prowled in their cage, and one of the bears made a sound so whining it rang inside his skull.

He tightened his grip on his knees, placing his head in between them. His claws raked down along one tibia, flaking dust off of its surface. His working eye observed the ensuing chaos, through black spots that flitted across it just the same as the floating ash.

He had always been cold — even if the circus made a stop in the city in the middle of the summer, even if the sun was beating down upon his bones, even if he wrapped himself tight in the thin sheet they’d deigned to give him. And now he felt warm, marrow boiling within his bones as the flames got ever closer to his own cage.

It was almost poetic, that ~~the one~~ one of the only things he’s always vied after would be the last he’d ever feel.

The wind carried a scorching flier into his cage, his own visage crumbling to ash right there in front of him, so he closed his sockets and waited for the warmth to turn painful. Everything turned quiet, the humans’ voices blending into the background, even the crackle of burning wood enough to overpower the noise.

And then came a voice, so clear and close that Horror couldn’t resist seeing who would be out of their mind enough to ogle the fabled _skeleton out of hell_ during a fire. “What a poor thing.”

Before him stood a skeletal monster — no, a _demon_. His power stretched far and wide in its intensity, and he looked almost like an angel, with dark wings stretched far, even as vines of pure black curled around the bones like they were trying to imitate the snakes that had no doubt already suffocated in their prison. The backdrop of burning fabric made the skeleton seem as if he were glowing.

Horror would’ve wondered how he hadn’t felt the presence before, if he weren’t so tired. It was a gargantuan task to simply keep his sockets open.

So he didn’t; let them close instead. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, maybe the flames wouldn’t get a chance to become painful if this demon dusted him beforehand.

Instead of a strike he came to expect, the metal of his prison shook, a piercing screech ringing in his acoustic meatuses as one of those snake-like tentacles struck at the padlock and cut it clean off.

“You can speak, can’t you? Or have they taken _that_ from you too?”

Horror blinked up at the demon, now that there were no bars to separate them. Thick, viscous globs of some dark sludge covered each bone from skull to the shoes he wore, dripping to the ground and steeping it in the demon’s essence. It took a while for him to remember he’d been asked a question.

“I— can.”

His voice felt — and sounded — like sandpaper, but the demon simply nodded. “I am Nightmare.”

“Killer,” another skeleton spoke up, one that had escaped Horror’s notice up until that exact moment. He held a knife in one hand, and the selfsame black seeped from his eyesockets in lieu of eyelights. 

The other cages had been liberated as well, the animals running amok in hopes of escaping. The demonic energy wafting from this one was weaker, but the undertones of death were almost palpable, like Horror could taste them simply by smell.

 _I don’t have a name,_ he wanted to say. _Not anymore._ But what he actually said was, “Horror.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Horror. Would you like to leave this…” Nightmare’s nasal bridge furrowed in disgust, single visible eyelight flicked off to the side before returning to Horror. “... _infernal_ place?”

Oh how tempting that sounded.

But Horror could barely move anymore. He was still fighting to simply stay awake, and it must’ve shown on his expression, somehow, because Nightmare’s teeth pulled up into a soft smile and he stepped forward.

One of those tentacles slid down the length of a wing and hovered before him for a moment before cradling his cheek not unlike a kind lover would’ve. Despite himself, Horror found himself leaning into the touch, the coldness something he never thought he would’ve been so happy to feel.

His bones prickled with the heat. If he’d had lungs, he would’ve suffocated by now.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Nightmare asked, though it was more rhetorical than a real question. At least Horror thought so, when he couldn’t force himself to answer.

Nightmare’s expression stayed the same as he crossed the last bit of distance separating them and knelt down before Horror’s shivering form. The tentacle hadn’t left Horror’s skull, but it did shift to cradle it, winding around his vertebrae soft as can be. Despite Horror’s expectations, not a single drop of the black substance was left on his bones, and the tentacle felt silk soft.

Nightmare’s smile widened and he whispered a quiet, “Eat,” for Horror only.

He leaned in and slotted their teeth together, and Horror jolted like he’d been shocked. The demon’s energy enveloped him, akin to the sheet as it wrapped around him, but so much warmer, and heavier. Horror found himself scrambling to hold onto the demon as energy filled him, setting his bones ablaze in a completely different way, making his marrow _bubble_.

He felt like he could take on the entire world and _devour_ it.

Nightmare pulled away, tentacle moving to wipe at the corner of Horror’s teeth and he was left panting, staring wide-eyed as the demon stood and offered him a hand to take, wings shifting behind him minutely.

“Hot,” Killer said, a grin firmly placed on his skull as he peered into the cage from the entrance. Horror didn’t know if he was talking about Nightmare, or the circus around them, but he found himself agreeing to both.

“Come now,” Nightmare prompted, and that was all the coaxing Horror needed to envelop Nightmare’s hand in his own — it was so small, how was such a small being so _powerful_ — and get pulled up to his feet.

His legs felt shaky, but instead of feeling like he’d collapse at any moment, he felt like if he didn’t move, he’d tear something apart. The power Nightmare had given him filled each nook and every cranny of his body, buzzing along his joints and sloshing inside his SOUL. It was a heady and intoxicating feeling.

“Killer, if you would please,” Nightmare said, his smile twisting into something more wicked as he glanced over at the other skeleton.

“Aye, aye, anythin’ for you,” was all he said, disappearing off behind a flaming tent flap.

“Let’s get out,” Nightmare said to Horror again, leading him out of the cage with decisive steps. Once again Horror was struck thinking he looked like an angel, when he spread his wings to make sure Horror would be protected from the gusts of hot air. “This place is not fit for anyone, much less someone like _you._ ”

And fed as he was, strong and alert, Horror could almost believe such words, holding himself straight for the first time in years.


	2. Nightmare; origins

Nightmare thought this was what hell felt like.

His throat was raw with ash and embers stuck in between his vertebrae and he couldn’t even scream anymore. He clutched the blackened apple to his chest, the single thing that seemed impervious to the lick of flames, like it was a lifeline.

_‘Is it power? Is that why it’s forbidden?’ he’d asked his brother once, raising his gaze up to the Tree._

_His brother had hummed in thought. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think it matters, in the end.’_

And he’d been right; it hadn’t mattered.

But Nightmare had always been nothing if not curious, his biggest downfall from the beginning of time itself. Each book, each little tidbit of new information, he’d devoured, like a ravenous beast. But there had always been the ageless question of why the fruit of the Tree had been forbidden.

Was it that it held power? Was it that it would hurt? Or maybe it was simply a rule set in place to test patience and virtue. Even Nightmare’s seemingly endless patience had run out one day, though.

So, with a simple flap of his wings, he’d been high enough to grasp one of the coveted apples. The garden had been silent around him, not even the blue grass moving, not even the marbled fountains stirring as he examined his prize.

Nothing more than a simple apple to the naked eye. He’d polished it with the sleeve of his tunic and blinked down at his own face reflected back at him on its red surface. One bite was all it had taken.

The ground opened up below him, marble crumbling into a shower of debris and gold flakes, dirt giving way beneath the selfsame grass he’d loved to lay upon, and he’d been plummeting to his doom.

The skies passed him by as he fell, his wings rendered useless as the violet feathers burst into flames, leaving him powerless to do anything but watch as Heaven got further and further away from him. The pain was marrow-deep, each feather falling out like a limb cut.

He sobbed, voice lost to the deafening whistle of the air passing by. The apple that had been red as a rose had blackened in his hands, seeping a sticky fluid that clung to his phalanges and stained his tunic, and no matter how hard he tried to crane his head to the side, he couldn’t see what he was falling towards.

It made panic swell in him, even more than the pain of his wings crumbling to pieces, that he was forced to look up, to whence he’d come from, but there was nothing more _to_ see, just an endless expanse of a blue sky and roiling gray clouds.

Would he die?

He certainly felt like he was dying; each of his joints flaring with magic as if to counteract the pain wracking him. His burning feathers and pieces of embers from his clothes floated above him, much slower in their descent than he was. From just how many he could see, it would’ve been a wonder if he had any left on his wings at all.

And then, unceremoniously, his back hit something, and what little breath he had in his metaphorical lungs was punched out of him, the course of his fall veered off. Upon the next impact, he could discern a blurry outline of a tree; he must’ve hit one of its branches.

He barely felt the scrapes as he went through the canopies, landing in a heap onto a layer of leaves. Each bone in his body burned with pain, charred and scratched up. He couldn’t move.

Was this hell? It certainly didn’t seem to align with what he knew of it, so maybe this was Earth. It didn’t matter, though; he’d die here, unable to move, and his dust would fertilize the trees that have bought him a couple minutes in return.

The apple’s leaking tar burned as it touched his bones, but he couldn’t manage much more than a weak whimper and a reflexive jerk. Maybe it’d eat him alive, like he’d tried to eat it. It took a monumental amount of willpower, but he managed to bring the apple away from his ribcage, to take a proper look at it.

The bite he’d taken out of it kept leaking, like there was an endless well of the black tar within it. Nightmare immediately regretted his actions when a drop of it landed on his browbone, splattering with a wet noise.

It felt like acid burning through him and eating into his skull. He clutched his skull, but his hands were already covered in it, and it dripped down into his eyesocket, wrenching a cry out of him that sounded nothing like his own voice, raspy and choked. 

The apple fell into his lap as he clutched at his eyesocket, voice scratching his throat raw — or more than it already was — as he screamed. The pain kept him from noticing the pool of the sludge gathering under the fruit, until it seemed to come alive and started crawling along his bones, coating any exposed inch it could find.

Nightmare didn’t know how long the torture lasted; it could’ve been a blink, or it could’ve been centuries, but by the time the pain ebbed away into something manageable, the tar had coated his whole body, still moving on the surface in thick, slow drips.

He was also standing, with no recollection of moving. Had he passed out? He moved his fingers, just to see if he still _could_.

The apple was nowhere to be found when he looked for it, but that was just as well. The infernal thing could rot away for all eternity for all he cared. Instead of wasting time looking for it, he took stock of himself.

Apart from being coated in the viscous tar, he seemed to be in one piece. Not counting his wings, of which only the bone structure remained, feebly stretching when he so willed them. He’d never be able to fly again; he did his best to push down the crestfallen feeling in his ribcage at the discovery, and instead tried dislodging the tar from himself.

That proved fruitless, and he almost laughed at that idea. Stupid fruit.

In the end, it had held no power, no knowledge, nothing worth _this_.

And he felt so _hungry_ all of a sudden.

No matter.

If he were given a second chance on Earth, it wouldn’t do to waste time. He’d make it his own, one way or another.


	3. Cross; origins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crown is the name i gave x!papyrus. check end notes for reasoning  
> and, just for clarity's sake, this "Gaster" is x!gaster

Cross almost had to run to keep up with his brother’s large steps. They echoed in the vacated hallways of the Academy, their shoes squeaking on the polished tiles.

“Oh, I cannot wait!” Crown exclaimed, a wide smile practically glued to his face, and Cross had to hide his own at the display. “Finally, we get to be true exorcists! Aren’t you excited, brother?”

Cross huffed out a laugh, conceding with a soft, “Yeah.”

Crown had been talking non-stop about today for the past month, at the very least. It was hard not to share in his enthusiasm, but there was also a huge ball of anxiety in Cross’ SOUL. Sure, the ceremony and test were simply protocol, but they would be up against real demons. It wouldn’t do to lower their guard.

They reached the auditorium in record time; it was a wide, large room, rows upon rows of white seats lined up before a stage, though none were filled save for the very first row. Counting in his head, Cross could tell they were the last ones to arrive, and there was still fifteen minutes to spare.

The Head exorcist, often referred to as Gaster by those no longer in training, stood on the stage, hands clasped behind his back. His eyelights briefly followed the two of them as they took their seats with the other trainees.

Gaster was punctual, so they simply sat in silence for the last fifteen minutes, and Cross’ anxiety simply kept mounting and mounting, not even Crown’s leg bouncing breaking him out of his own thoughts. What finally did was Gaster’s voice, as he cleared his throat and started his speech.

“Dear trainees, the day has come when your might and belief shall be tested,” he said, “Each of you shall be assigned a demon to conquer, and thusly, join the ranks of us exorcists. When I call your name, you will come up here on stage, and I will present your challenge.”

There was a beat of silence, and Gaster’s gaze lingered on Cross. He could feel his SOUL pounding in his ribcage.

“Abigail.”

A bunny monster rose from her seat and stepped up to the stage; Cross could see her nervously fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

Gaster said an incantation, and then stepped aside as a cloud of smoke rose from where he’d been standing previously. When the smoke cleared, in its place was a small demon. It looked like a volcano, spewing little trickles of lava and ash from its top.

Abigail didn’t even wait until the smoke cleared. Her bullets were tiny yet precise, and with just a dozen of them, the volcano demon was turning into dust.

They were all on the edges of their seats — Cross knew he was on the edge of  _ his _ — as Abigail stared at the floor. Then Gaster finally moved his hands from behind his back and clapped.

It echoed in the silent room, the acoustics making it sound so much louder than it had any right to.

“Marvelous job. Abigail, please wait in the hallway. And welcome to the ranks of exorcists.”

Abigail lit up with a bright smile, her ears pointing skywards as she nigh-hopped off stage and towards the door.

“Crown.”

Cross had almost stood up, when he realized that Gaster had not called out _ his _ name. He had thought they’d go in alphabetical order, and he always came just before his brother. Crown turned a smile on him and Cross attempted to return it to the best of his abilities.

And then Crown was taking the steps two at a time and taking his spot on the stage.

Gaster repeated his incantation, and Cross gripped the armrests of his seat as the smoke of the summoning cleared. For a split second, he thought the summoning had failed, but then he could discern yellow under the gray.

“Howdy!” a tiny yellow flower said, a bright smile upon its face. It waved with one of its leaves. “I’m Flowey, Flowey the flower!”

The energy of the demon was palpable in the air; it made Cross’ bones prickle with the pressure. Sweat was beading on his browbone.

Crown should’ve taken a page out of the bunny’s book and speared the demon with a line of bones. But instead, he stared down at it in disbelief, turning a confused look first at Gaster, then towards Cross. And Cross’ SOUL  _ plummeted _ , straight to the pit of his stomach.

“Crown, no—”

A second.

A second was all it took, for the demon to summon thorned vines and entangle Crown within them. Cross was out of his seat, but the vines tightened, and with a sickening snap, a vine shattered Crown’s vertebrae.

Cross made it to the stage just in time for his brother’s skull to fall in front of him.

He stared at it, at Crown’s stunned look, as it started dusting, and everything around him went quiet. He knew the flower was laughing, somewhere in the back of his mind, because its grin was moving, but he couldn’t hear it.

The vines came for him next, narrowly missing him as he summoned his knife. Something wet dripped down his face.

He didn’t know if he made a sound as he slashed at the demon, nor as he kept slashing at it, until there was nothing left but broken petals and a dusting stem. He ached with labored breathing, his knife shaking where he held the handle with both hands. Everything in his vision swam.

“Cross.”

He blinked, displacing the swimming surroundings, and realized he was crying. Loud, choked sobs left him and the little gasps he took weren’t enough for his hyperventilating body.

Gaster appeared before him, one hand on his shoulder. His face was blurry when Cross looked up at him, and he couldn’t tell if that was a smile or a frown on his face.

“As much as this whole…” he scoffed down at Cross, but he replaced the expression with a blank one just as fast, “... _ incident _ and interrupting another’s test is against the rules, I will pardon it this one time.”

His hand squeezed Cross’ shoulder, and then moved to his face. Cross hissed when Gaster ran a phalange over his cheek, and stared at it when it came away coated in marrow.

“It would seem you have gained a mark to remind you of this moment. I forbid any healing of it,” he whispered, low enough that only Cross could hear him. And then, louder, “Welcome to the order of the exorcists, Cross. You may wait outside in the hallway.”

He was pushed towards the door, his feet feeling like lead. Crown was still there, on the podium, his dust no doubt mixing with that of the demons — of the demon that  _ killed him _ ! And Cross was now outside in the hallway, only in the company of the sunrays streaming in through the stained windows, and Abigail’s inquisitive gaze.

“My condolences,” Gaster called after him, the last thing he could hear before it slammed shut. Whatever the next name he called out was, Cross couldn’t hear, not over the ringing in his acoustic meatuses.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Him and Crown were supposed to become exorcists together. 

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Cross and Crown (a cross passing through a crown) is a Christian symbol used by various Christian denominations. It has also been used in heraldry.[1][2] The emblem is often interpreted as symbolizing the reward in heaven (the crown) coming after the trials in this life (the cross) (James 1:12).  
> In addition to Roman Catholic and Orthodox Christian uses,[5] the symbol also appears in the seal of the Church of Christ, Scientist, where it is surrounded by the words "Heal the Sick, Cleanse the Lepers, Raise the Dead, Cast Out Demons", from the Gospel of Matthew, 10:8.[6]
> 
> :)


	4. Killer; origins

Nightmare’s eyesocket burned from all the tiny print he’d been sifting through for hours by now. Even still, he didn’t understand humans’ affinity for it; if one wanted to hide something, there were easier ways than by making a document’s font smaller.

What most of them seemed to overlook was the ease with which one could hide something in plain view. A dozen correct words, and one would find themself bound in a completely different way than they thought.

Nightmare knew, for words had always been his forte. And now he had a use for them. The fact that earth’s best lawyers thought they could get past his knowledge and keen sight was all but laughable.

Their negative emotions once they learned he saw right through any of the attempts made for a delicious meal. His tentacles twitched where they rested, wound through what remained of his wings, at the mere thought. He highlighted a line to return to later, and set the stack of papers down onto the desk.

It had been all too easy to play the system once he’d understood it, but the best part was doing so while breaking no rules. It reminded him of the chess games he used to play with his brother once upon a time.

His idle musings of whether or not Dream had gotten any better at it over the years were interrupted as he sensed a mixture of death and lead permeating the air, so strong he could all but taste it at the tip of his tongue.

He wondered why a demon would come to his territory with such clear intent when he’d made his presence  _ known. _ None within the premises dared to challenge him, knowing it would be a fool’s errand. It begged curiosity, as to whom might dare waltz right in.

He shrugged on his coat, stretching his wings to adjust it, and left his study, unhurried. 

He wasn’t sure exactly what he had come to expect to find as he followed the scent, but he had to admit it was not a human child, scurrying behind a skeletal demon, of all things.

The scent of demonic energy intermingled with that of hate, the emotion heady and thick in the air until it would feel nigh stifling to anyone else. Nightmare, however, reveled in it, tasting it like rich wine. Only for a moment, as he blocked the duo’s path.

“It isn’t very often we get new visitors,” he said, in lieu of a greeting. It wasn’t a lie, not really. New faces were not common, but not rare by any stretch of the imagination. “Not ones of your… disposition, anyways.”

The demon stared at him with blank sockets, and at the sight of the sludge dripping down his cheekbones, Nightmare’s curiosity grew, just as the negativity on his bones roiled, fed by the atmosphere. He didn’t move.

The child, on the other hand, peeked out from behind him. They couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, even with Nightmare’s troubles placing human ages. Their eyes were crimson, and looked him up and down, as if in contemplation.

“Are you a demon?” they asked. Nightmare couldn’t feel anything but simple curiosity from them, but that may have been due to the sheer strength of the demon’s hate. There was so much of it, and truth be told, he couldn’t get enough. Just like good wine, it only got better the more he had of it.

“Yes,” he answered, “Yes, I am.”

The child hummed, rocking on the balls of their feet. “Are you a strong one?”

Nightmare’s wings twitched, tentacles flicking minutely. “Yes.”

A smile split the child’s face, wide and unhinged. He was hit by a wave of malice, a sharp aftertaste to the skeleton’s hate, though they did not complement each other as much as he would’ve thought they would. “Killer,” they called, and the skeleton moved for the first time since Nightmare had arrived. He pulled a blade out of seemingly nowhere, and held it almost like an extension of his own arm. “Bet he’ll make you much stronger. Get him.”

The demon moved at the command, lunging at Nightmare with surprising speed. His tentacles unwound from around his wings and he caught the demon’s hand with just one.

“I said  _ get him!” _ the child repeated, with a huff. Oh, a petulant little brat. They reminded Nightmare of Dream, in a sense.

The demon twisted, wrenching his arm free to swing the blade again. Nightmare, again, caught it, another tentacle taking the stained blade from the skeleton’s tense grip. Like candy from a child.

It clattered to the ground, off to the side, forgotten. The demon tried to get out of Nightmare’s hold, but he didn’t stand a chance against three of his tentacles, and especially not when everything around them was only making him more powerful.

As close as they were, he could  _ taste  _ the emotion as it dripped down from the skeleton’s sockets. A drop of it flicked onto Nightmare’s face as the demon writhed, and it was like a jolt of liquid pleasure across his bones. Nightmare’s eyelight dilated with delight, tentacles squeezing around the skeleton to hide the way they wanted to shiver.

Oh, that had been  _ exquisite. _

Nightmare decided he wanted more of it.

“Killer—” the child tried to call out, but Nightmare’s remaining tentacle cut them off, winding around the small body like a boa constrictor, circling around their mouth to shut them up.

“It’s rather rude to interrupt when adults are talking,” he said, licking his teeth. He reached a hand out and dragged a phalange over the demon’s cheek, gathering up the dark sludge. Another spark of pure ecstasy as the power coursed through him. 

Nightmare pulled away; that could get addictive. 

The child bit down on the tentacle gagging them, and in retaliation, Nightmare simply gave a warning squeeze, feeling more than hearing the pained gasp.

“Shush,” he chided.

Unable to do much else, the child just glared at him. And, as if that broke a spell, the skeletal demon slumped in Nightmare’s hold. He was breathing heavily as he looked at him, a faint light in one of the empty sockets.

Curious.

He finally got a good look at the demon. ‘Killer,’ the child had called him. He was dressed in old clothes, nothing more than tatters, really, and jostling him produced a clinking sound, as if he had more weapons hidden under the bulk of his hoodie. But what was more interesting was the demon’s SOUL, summoned and floating outside his body, like a giant target, which was ironically the shape it had.

“Please…” the demon rasped, voice broken from disuse. The grin he had been sporting up until then fell off. He looked pathetic.

Nightmare blinked at the plea, until understanding dawned upon him.

“Oh, you poor, poor thing,” he cooed, reaching back out and scooping another drop of the liquid hate. It was aimed at the child, all of it, the entirety of the feeling that was strong enough to have Nightmare’s bones rattling under the cover of his own. “You got yourself in quite the bind, didn’t you? Where’s your pact?”

The demon looked at him pleadingly, twitching a hand by his side where a tentacle kept it immobile. Gently, he unwound it, letting the limb go, but kept the others in place, for now. The demon looked like he would collapse without them.

With his hand freed, Killer summoned the magical paper. Nightmare took it from him, looking the crudely scribbled words over. Were these written in crayon? What a peculiar child the demon had found himself bound to. Nightmare could spot the glaring hole in the contract the moment he read it, but he wasn’t all that surprised the demon had not. The child’s wording was deliberately vague.

“Poor thing,” he repeated, tearing the paper in two. Idly, he wondered if doing so would get rid of the demon’s delicious hate, but his damned integrity won over the selfishness. This was no way to live, even for a demon.

He set Killer down onto the ground; he was staring at the pieces of paper with wide sockets, disbelief written all over his face. Nightmare turned towards the child, meeting their enraged gaze. For but a moment, he felt the demon’s hate filling him, like it was his own.

A split second decision had the child’s neck snapping with a crunch loud enough to echo throughout the street, and just like that, what little threat the duo would have posed to his town was extinguished.

He dropped the corpse as if it were a piece of trash and addressed the demon, retreating his tentacles to their favored position. “There you go. Consider it a repayment for the meal you brought me. It had been delicious.” And still was, but he left that part unsaid. “You are free to go.”

Killer took a while to recover — whether from the pact breaking or the emotions sweeping over him, Nightmare didn’t know — but he was loath to leave the demon alone right after getting him out of one sticky situation. He knew the types of humans that inhabited these streets, after all.

What the demon said when he composed himself, though, still managed to catch him off-guard. Killer bowed his head and muttered, “I’m yours. For savin’ me, I’ll do anything.”

Nightmare would have been the first one to admit he didn’t know everything there was to know about demons, despite counting towards their ranks now, but he had never heard of them offering loyalty for an act of simple kindness. It did open a door that he would’ve been a fool not to enter, though.

“Your hate,” he said, “I want it. All of it.”

Killer raised his head and grinned, sharp as a knife but no longer soulless. The eyelight in his right socket was faint, but steady. “It’s yours.”

Nightmare offered him a hand and pulled him up to his feet, leaning in and only hesitating for half a SOULbeat before their teeth crashed together and he licked the darkness straight from the source as it dripped into both their mouths.

It felt like he was getting drunk off of it, and he did not want to pull away. Preferably ever. And judging by the fact that Killer’s claws came up to grip onto his coat, with something bordering on desperation, neither did he.

Oh, he had to be careful.

This could turn out to be addictive, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> you can talk to me on [tumblr](https://armethaumaturgy.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/esqers)  
> 


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